“Then they will go with you.”
“The fewer the better, and the less noise made abroad.”
“Let Lord Francis go, Miss Ingleby,” said Mrs Delabole, taking a hand. “The clergyman will pay no heed to footmen.”
The companion had remained dissatisfied. “But neither of them know how to control Tamasine. If she should fly into one of her tantrums…”
At which, Patrick had intervened. “I am a doctor, ma’am. I will do whatever may be found necessary.”
Wasting no further words, Francis chose expedience and left the house, followed by his brother-in-law. They made all speed towards the church on foot. There was little to be gained by wasting time on a return to the Dower House to commandeer one of the carriages and order the horses to be put to.
The rector, an elderly man well known to Francis from his childhood, was enunciating in his feathery voice the opening sequences of the marriage ceremony. In the dimness of the interior, Francis could make out three figures standing at the altar before the cleric. The identities of the two men could not be determined in the shadows enveloping them, but the female’s cloak glinted red in a shaft of light from one of the narrow windows to one side.
A vivid image of Tamasine upon the day she had first burst into their lives came into Francis’s mind. The spangled gown, covered by a billowing red cloak.
“It is she,” he murmured. “The deed is not yet done, thank the Lord.”
He would have started forward, but Patrick stayed him. “Wait for the impediment bit.”
In his heightened state of anxiety, it seemed to Francis to take forever for the parson to reach the relevant point, although it must have been barely moments.
“If any man can show just cause, why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter forever hold his peace.”
Taking a breath, Francis strode towards the altar, raising his voice. “The marriage cannot go forward.”
The two men jerked about. As Francis neared, he saw the second was the Willow Court butler. So he had indeed colluded in the young man’s plots. Tillie was right. There could be no doubt of the fellow Roy’s identity, though Francis had not previously met him.
The man flung himself towards the intruders, throwing out an accusing finger. “Who the devil are you to interfere? What do you mean by it?”
“I am Lord Francis Fanshawe, and my purpose is to stop this farce before it goes any further.”
He cast a glance as he spoke at Tamasine, who had turned to watch. She was, for a wonder, smiling her beatific smile and she let out a high-pitched laugh.
“Simeon is going to marry me.”
Francis knew better than to argue with the wench. He concentrated on Roy, but was forestalled by Lomax.
“This is intolerable! Even here you dare to stick your nose into what does not concern you?”
Roy turned to him. “You know this man?”
“It is Lady Francis’s husband, and a worse busybody you could never meet.”
Francis exploded. “Your insolence is only equalled by your temerity, Lomax. You had best consider your position in this, since you have chosen to aid and abet Roy in his wrongdoing.”
“Wrongdoing?” Simeon Roy dove a hand into his pocket and brought it out, flourishing a leaf of paper. “I have the necessary licence. If Mr Dewberry here is satisfied, what have you to say in the matter?”
“I have this to say. You do not have the permission of the lady’s guardians.”
Roy uttered a scornful laugh. “Tamasine is of age. She is free to choose whom she would marry. It happens that she prefers me.”
“Except that she is already betrothed to my nephew,” countered Francis with relish.
He had not intended to bring Giles into it, but if that was what it took to do what his wife had enjoined him to do, then so be it. Before he had offered his services — or rather, imposed them on the assembled company, he reflected ruefully — Tillie had grasped his arm and whispered a frantic message in his ear.
“Fan, please go yourself. You must stop this! I cannot think Tamasine’s life is worth a penny if that fellow manages to make her his wife.”
The announcement had an immediate effect on the Reverend Mr Dewberry, who had been gazing stupefied upon the scene. He at once entered the fray. “My lord, do you tell me there is a prior engagement?”
“Indeed I do, Mr Dewberry, though it has not been publicly announced. But I am assured that Mr Roy knew of it.”
Simeon Roy at once began upon a protest. “Nothing of the kind, sir. That betrothal was dissolved only the other day, by Lord Bennifield’s grandmother herself.”
“Lady Polbrook? Are you certain, sir?”
The fellow Roy continued to argue his case with the cleric, and Francis found his brother-in-law at his elbow.
“Lomax has made himself scarce.” Francis glanced about the church. There was no sign of the butler. Had his words borne fruit? He could well believe the fellow would never endanger his own interests in support of the man Roy. “Draw off the boy, Fan, and I’ll put the rector in possession of the facts.”
Francis thanked Patrick in a low tone, and went instead to the girl’s side. Best not to enjoin her to come away. Subterfuge was more likely to work, and no doubt distract Roy from his argument with the parson.
“Tamasine, do you not wish to marry Giles?”
Her eyes were feverish with excitement, and laughter trilled out of her. “Of course, silly. But first I am going to marry Simeon.”
Francis thought fast. Recalling how his wife was apt to deal with the girl, he kept his tone mild. “Ah, but I’m afraid you can’t marry both. The law does not allow it, you know. You must choose.”
His voice must have carried for Roy turned sharply from his conference with the rector. Leaving the fellow without ceremony, he pounced.
“What are you telling her? Tam, my pet, don’t you listen to him.”
Francis ignored him, concentrating on the girl. Devoutly hoping that any falsehoods in the house of God might be forgiven, since his purpose was sufficient, Francis infused his voice with regret.
“Giles will be most unhappy.”
“Be quiet! Enough of your lies, sir!” This from Simeon Roy in a savage under-voice. And to the girl in a tone of unctuous flattery, “Tam, you love me best, don’t you? You are my little china doll.”
Tamasine gave a delighted squeal. “Yes, I am, I am!”
“Giles is waiting for you,” Francis said, with difficulty suppressing a spurt of anger. How dared the boy work upon the child’s mind in this unscrupulous fashion?
“Giles, Giles, Giles,” sang Tamasine, clapping her hands. “He wants to kiss me.”
“Of course he does. Come with me, and I will take you to him.”
Roy threw an arm around Tamasine’s shoulder, holding her fast to his side. His tone became brittle. “You are staying with me. You are my little sweetheart, my little darling, my little pet. Are you not, my lovely?”
Tamasine beamed up at him. “Yes, and Lavinia won’t let me marry you because she wants you for herself.”
“Exactly so, my sweet. And therefore we have made our plans in secret and we are going to be married this moment.”
“Oh, no, you are not,” Francis murmured in a voice only loud enough for Roy to hear. “I’m afraid the cleric will no longer be persuaded to perform the ceremony.”
Simeon Roy’s confounded look was almost ludicrous. Releasing the girl, he turned quickly, hissing in a breath as he saw Patrick had drawn the rector some feet away towards the entrance to the vestry. He swung back on Francis, his handsome visage contorted with a snarl.
“Damn you both! Don’t think I’m beaten. There are more ways to skin a cat.”
Triumph rose up in Francis. “But not for you, I think, Mr Roy. You’ve lost this round.” With an oath, the man lifted his balled fists, the threat implicit in his eyes. Francis adopted the soft tone of command that had served him so well in his
soldiering days. “Don’t even think of it. Your henchman has gone, and we are two. You will get the worst of it, my friend.”
For a moment, the issue hung in the balance, and Francis braced himself to withstand an attack. Then Simeon Roy let his breath go and sank back. His tone turned as smooth as oil, his voice a drawl that Francis surmised was habitual, a deliberate pose of nonchalance.
“Well, I have no mind for a bloodied nose. I retire from the lists for the nonce, defeated.” He gave his arm to Tamasine, who was watching the give and take of words with no diminution in her gleeful expression. She was evidently thoroughly enjoying the contretemps. “Come, my pet. It seems we are doomed to save our nuptials for another day.”
The rector’s fluttery tones came from behind him. “Sir, I must beg you not to repeat this endeavour elsewhere.”
Roy turned on him. “I fail to see how it concerns you, sir.”
“It concerns me, sir,” said Dewberry, his tone grave, “because you have attempted to perpetrate a fraud upon the blessed sanctity of matrimony.”
“As I told you, sir, it is untrue. Lord Bennifield’s betrothal does not stand.”
“That, sir, is immaterial. Even had that weighed with me, I should certainly not perform the ceremony without first consulting with Lady Polbrook. Also, I might add, Mrs Delabole, whom I understand to be this lady’s guardian since the demise of — er — well, since her former guardian’s demise.”
The curling lip that characterised Roy’s smile appeared. “Oh, Ruth will put no bar in my way, I am persuaded.”
“That, sir, remains to be seen.” The cleric lowered his voice, clearly attempting to escape Tamasine’s wide-eyed gaze which went from him to Simeon as if she followed the conversation, which Francis was persuaded could not be the case. “You are in God’s house, Mr Roy. Dare you seriously expect me to marry you to a lady who clearly has little or no understanding of the vows she is expected to make?”
Simeon Roy cast a fulminating glance at Patrick’s impassive countenance. “So that is your game, Doctor Hathaway? Below the belt, sir, very much below the belt.” Turning his back on the cleric, he smiled down into the girl’s face. “Come, my pet. We shall go home and confound Lavinia. She will be very angry with us, and that will afford us a deal of amusement.”
Tamasine’s squealing laughter painfully smote Francis’s ears, and he hung back to wait for Patrick, who was bidding the rector farewell. Francis added his thanks to the man, with an apology for putting him to such trouble.
“Indeed, my lord, you have earned my gratitude. I am thankful to have been spared the ignominy of being the cause of that poor creature’s future unhappiness, if the gentleman in the case is truly only concerned with her fortune, as the doctor here informs me. I had heard rumours, of course. It is sad to understand them to be true.”
Francis replied suitably and made good his escape. “We must hurry, Patrick. There is no saying but that Roy may not try another throw if we are not close behind him.”
“He’s rogue enough, I grant you.”
“Yes, but I can’t help but admire his insouciance,” Francis admitted. “He seems to have boldness enough for any fate.”
With what patience she could muster, Ottilia was engaged in attempting to calm Mrs Delabole’s multiple distresses. The woman was clearly out of her depth, saying over and over that she could not undertake to care for ‘that creature’, as she referred to Tamasine, and expressing the forlorn wish that Ottilia had not sent her spouse and brother to interfere.
“You cannot wish your niece to be placed under the care of a man who is clearly bent upon using her for his own ends.”
Mrs Delabole struck her hands together. “But you don’t know that. Perhaps he is genuinely fond of the girl.”
“He may well be, though I take leave to doubt it since he is perfectly aware of the ramifications of her condition.”
“Yes, but if she remains single, what is to be done with her? I don’t want to be saddled with her, Lady Francis, though I am of course sorry for the wench. I don’t mean to be unkind, but —”
“I am sure you don’t, ma’am, and no one could accuse you of it. It must be hard indeed to be thrust into this situation.”
“Well, it is,” insisted the matron, almost tearfully. “I have a numerous family of my own, you must know, and it is difficult enough to manage my own children. Really, my brother should have made better provision. I cannot think what he was about, arranging for her to be sent over here. He ought to have kept her in the West Indies where she might be safely watched, instead of unleashing her upon an unsuspecting public.”
“That, I fear, is past praying for, ma’am.”
“True.” Mrs Delabole sighed, her features crumpling. “She is quite deranged, you know. My brother made no secret of it to me. Indeed, I believe he found relief in writing of it without restraint. He knew I should make no undue judgement.”
Ottilia’s ears pricked up. “I should be most interested to hear what he told you, Mrs Delabole, if you don’t object to speaking of it.”
“How should I at this juncture? There is no concealing it from you, I am certain.”
“No, for I have seen her at full cry. But go on, Mrs Delabole.”
“Matt saw the signs when she was an infant. Tamasine had, he said, the same distrait manner he first noticed in his wife. Her attention could not be focused for more than a minute.”
“That is well seen. I’ve wondered how they managed to teach her anything at all.”
Mrs Delabole threw up a hand. “Heavens, nothing! She had lessons, but she was apt to abandon them in an instant. They were put to creating games to instil anything at all into her wayward mind. She was forever playing tricks, vanishing into the sugar canes and causing everyone the maximum amount of trouble. A terrible charge upon my poor brother! And she had cunning, he said.” Compassion showed in her features, but it proved not to be towards Tamasine. “What upset poor Matt the most, I think, was the little streak of cruelty that ran through the child. She delighted in inflicting pain. They could not permit her to keep pets, for she was not to be trusted with them.”
Ottilia’s heart grew cold at the thought. “My brother says it is a symptom of the inability to see the world from another’s shoes.”
“Exactly so. Matt was convinced that, like his wife, Tamasine occupies a world of her own. Everyone else is incidental.”
Ottilia could not let this pass. “Not all persons, I believe. She does genuinely care for Hemp, I am sure.”
“Hemp? The black slave?”
The touch of revulsion in her voice caused Ottilia to become tart. “I am informed he is a free man, ma’am. At all events, Hemp is the one person who can control your niece.”
Mrs Delabole shuddered. “My niece! How in the world could I take her in charge? I should never know a moment’s peace. Mr Roy is welcome to her, for all of me!”
Revolted by the woman’s wholly unsympathetic attitude, Ottilia abandoned all effort to be tactful. “I hate to say this, ma’am, but I fear young Roy has no proper interest in Tamasine beyond acquiring access to her fortune, which I believe is considerable. Once he had it, I fear he would find means to rid himself of a singularly poor bargain of a wife.”
The matron stared at her, evidently unable to make the leap. “I cannot think what you mean, Lady Francis. How should he be rid of her? Not divorce, surely?”
“A surer means than that, I think.”
“Surer? What in the world are you implying?”
Dawning dismay was in the woman’s eyes. Before Ottilia could say more, the sound of the front door slamming penetrated to the parlour. With a muttered expletive, she jumped up and raced out, with every expectation of finding a cavalcade returning from the village church.
She found only the butler Lomax. She eyed him, trying to calm the jangle of her nerves. She managed as close an approximation to her normal tones as she could summon up.
“You are back then, Lomax. Can it be that yo
u were not a party to this secret marriage after all?” The fellow’s angry glare told her otherwise, but he did not speak. Footsteps could be heard above stairs and Ottilia hastened to seize the moment. “But it was you who kept Simeon Roy informed of events here at Willow Court, was it not?”
From behind her, Mrs Delabole gave a gasp. “Gracious, Lady Francis, what in the world do you mean?”
She had not expected the woman to follow her out of the parlour and could have done without her intervention. Although perhaps it was as well she knew what Ottilia suspected. She opted for clarification.
“I mean, ma’am, that Mr Roy is remarkably well informed about matters here for a man who has not been next or nigh the Barbados party since it came to this place.”
Lomax produced a sneer almost worthy of Roy himself. “You’ll believe what you wish to, I don’t doubt.”
“It rather leaps to the eye, Lomax. How long have you been in correspondence with him? Ever since he left Barbados? Or did you only seek him out when you arrived in England? Or no, more likely when you knew you must come here. Insurance, Lomax? You had a future to think of, had you not?”
She watched the effect of her words in the shift of muscles in his face, the tightening at his jaw, aware of Mrs Delabole’s open-mouthed astonishment at her elbow. The footsteps were now on the stairs and Ottilia looked up to see Miss Ingleby, who paused, her accusing eyes on the butler.
“Where are they?”
He removed his taut gaze from Ottilia and it narrowed as he turned it on the companion. “Why ask me? I’m not the girl’s keeper.”
“But I am, Mr Lomax.” The deep voice came from the back of the hall. Ottilia turned as one with Mrs Delabole as Hemp walked through to confront the butler. “Is it true, sir? What this lady says? You made a plan with Mister Simeon. You brought him here so he can run away with Miss Tam — again?”
“What?” Mrs Delabole’s eyes were round. “Great heavens, has he done this before?”
“He has, madame,” responded Hemp. “Did not Master Roy write to you of it?”
The Opium Purge (Lady Fan Mystery Book 3) Page 29